


Desire

by sunalso



Series: Sunshine and Fluff 2019 [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, artist and model au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-09 07:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17997284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: AU. Jemma needs to pay her rent, and while live modeling for an art class at her university, she meets aspiring artist Leo Fitz,  who sees her like no one else ever has.





	1. Rent

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Marvel Fluff Bingo 2019, for the square artist au

The banking app on her phone wasn’t lying. She really, really, really needed this money or she wasn’t going to be able to pay her rent. Jemma sighed. Desperation was a powerful motivator. Her friend Elena, who was in the university’s art department, had suggested the job to her, and Jemma, who was majoring in pharmacy, hadn’t been in a place to turn it down.

Which was how she found herself in a thin robe, waiting to be led out to model nude for an art class. There was chatter from the students as they set up, and none of it was lewd, which was probably a good sign. Elena had sworn up and down that it wasn’t pervy, more boring and cold while students rushed to complete their drawings.

The professor, a slightly scary woman named Dr. Hand, came to get her. Jemma’s hair was up as she’d been instructed, and she only wore very light makeup.

“You ready?” Professor Hand asked.

Jemma squared her shoulders. “Yes.”

“Don’t worry, everyone’s nervous at first, but then you realize they’re more staring at the shadows under your boobs and trying not to cry than attempting to draw you like one of their French girls.”

Jemma laughed. “I’ll be okay, and I’m certain this will make a good story to embarrass my grandchildren with some day.”

The professor grinned. “You’ll do fine, this session is an hour and a half, and hopefully you won’t freeze to death.” She led Jemma out to a small dais in the middle of the room that had a padded stool on it. “Class, this is our model for the next several weeks, Jemma. She’s in the pharmacy program. Today I want you to start with charcoal sketches, and we’ll go from there.” Professor Hand turned to Jemma. “Off with the robe. I’m going to position you and then you need to hold it as best as you possibly can.”

Jemma nodded and dropped the robe. Thankfully, no one made a sound. Professor Hand had her sit, turn her head, cross her ankles with her legs very firmly together, and drop her arms back with her hands gripping the stool.

“Is that alright?” The professor asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

Professor Hand stepped down, and there was the noise of twenty-five students in the class getting to work. Jemma felt very self-conscious. Her body was fine, but nothing spectacular, and it was the thought of just being ordinary that bothered her. Jemma was always the brightest student, she was exemplary, acing every assignment and test, and people praised her mind frequently.

No one here knew that about her. She was just a rather short, not very busty female body. Maybe a bit too wide in the hips, with straight brown hair. It irked her. She should recite the periodic table, backward, simply to show that she was more than a body.

And, bloody hell, Elena was right, Jemma was freezing. Her nipples were hard enough to cut glass.

Her eyes slid over the easels she could see, all at which the students wore expressions of concentration as they sketched. Everyone looked very much like art majors, with a lot of self-expression going on in their clothes and hair.

Except for the bloke who was positioned closest to her in her direct line of sight. He was dressed smartly in trousers, a red button-up shirt, and a black tie. Cautiously, he’d peek around his easel at her, then return to his drawing. He had curly light brown hair and was close enough that she could tell his eyes were blue.

Jemma thought she kind of liked him. He was cute, with his serious expression and nice jaw, and was very symmetrical, which she appreciated. Nice shoulders, slim hips. He’d be easy to overlook in a crowd, but since her position meant she was mostly staring right at him, that wasn’t a possibility.

He leaned around his easel, and his eyes went from her face to her breasts, fixing on them as he frowned. The Jemma’s horror, the room became a whole lot warmer and her breasts heavier. Rats. At least her nipples had already been tight, or she would have given herself away.

Wasn’t she supposed to worry about the students being turned on from looking at her, not the other way around?

Oh no, what if she was an exhibitionist and hadn’t known it?

****

Fitz was trying to concentrate on his sketch of Jemma, he really was. Not just stare at her tits and try to tell his prick that no, it wasn’t needed. This was entirely not fair. He’d been ready for some generically pretty woman to stare vacantly ahead while he attempted to capture her shape, not the bloody goddess Professor Hand had led on stage.

Jemma was exquisite, her face a rival for Helen of Troy’s, her breasts a delicious curve, and the flare of her hips begging to be caressed. He’d had to focus on her shoulders for a bit because when he’d started to fill in the shading of the…uh…area below her navel, the only thing he’d been able to think about was pushing her thighs apart and worshiping her with his tongue.

He was a proper wanker.

Oh, fuck, now he was thinking about wanking.

Cursing, he grabbed his cardigan out of his bag and shrugged it on. It was one he’d picked up secondhand and was much too big for him, which meant it thankfully hid his crotch.

He loved creating. Drawing, painting, crafting something that was not a reproduction of the world, but that said something about how he saw it. Fitz also appreciated the mathematical precision of the curves and lines he drew and how everything fit together. He’d very nearly gone into engineering as a major, but at the last second decided this would be his only chance to express himself. He could always go back and do what was expected of him if this didn’t pan out.

Fitz sighed and scratched his cheek. The only thing his drawing of Jemma was going to say was that he wanted to hump her into the ground.

Since the requirement was to turn in two sketches and a finished painting, he supposed he’d be stuck painting the back and rear of the man that’d modeled for them previously. Whatever Ward looked like, he’d been such a git that Fitz’s drawings of him all radiated anger, but he supposed that didn’t mean he couldn’t paint that arse’s arse.

Maybe that could be the painting’s title.

He glanced back up at Jemma and tilted his head to the side, studying the taut peak of her breast. It looked like a ripe strawberry, wanting to be sucked on. The dark lines of charcoal flowed over the paper, and his face felt hot as he used his fingers to subtly shade the area under the curve of her breasts. It was almost like touching her.

Never in his life had he seen a woman radiate confidence and sensuality like she did, and he desperately wanted to catch it on paper, so that twenty years from now he could have the drawing hanging on his wall and remember her long after she’d won a Nobel prize, because the fierce intelligence in her eyes was palpable. She would probably be very interesting to talk to.

Fitz wondered if she liked tea as he traced the curve of her thigh.

The hour and a half fled, and far too soon Jemma was being handed her robe by Professor Hand. Fitz had to bite his lip not to whimper when all her lovely skin was hidden away. The other students packed away their supplies, but there were a few last things Fitz wanted to capture, in case the next time he saw her—Thursday— he discovered he’d been imaging everything. She’d also be positioned the other way, and he’d be drawing her rear, which really wouldn’t be a hardship, but perhaps he’d be able to show her as the epitome of grace and beauty that she was, instead of what he’d drawn this time, which probably needed a flashing neon sign with three x’s pointing at it.

He really didn’t deserve to paint her.

****

Jemma was relieved to be able to stretch and put her clothes back on.

It had gotten very boring to be stuck in one spot while everyone stared at her, and she stared at the bloke in the tie. She’d started making up all kinds of fantasies about him. That he was secretly a spy, or that he liked bringing women breakfast in bed. And then ravishing them. Thoroughly.

He’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up at one point, and she’d been admiring his hands and forearms, right up until he’d yanked a shapeless grey cardigan out of his bag and put it on.

Which wasn’t fair.

She was freezing, and he got to be warm. He should have shared. That thought had led her mind right down a garden path that involved her wearing nothing except that cardigan and ended up with a delightful little house and two kids.

Jemma sighed as she slipped her trainers on. It’d been an awful lot of imagining over someone who probably had a girlfriend. Attractive men who dressed nicely usually did, in her experience. Or boyfriends.

Walking out from the back of the studio, she saw there was only one easel still set up. She was sure it belonged to her tie and cardigan wearing art student, but he was nowhere in sight. Feeling guilty, though her curiosity won out, she walked across the floor to have a look.

The drawing was superb, but she barely recognized herself. It wasn’t a fast sketch, at least not to her. There were details and shading, almost like the woman on the page could stand up and walk away. Jemma gaped at it. That woman couldn’t be her. The one in the picture was gorgeous and radiated sexuality.

There was a terrified squeak behind her, and Jemma spun to find the art student standing there, very red-faced.

“It’s just a s-s-sketch,” he stammered. “Um, n-n-not done.”

“It’s amazing,” she reassured him. “But I don’t look like that.” The cardigan was gone, and so was the tie. His shirt sleeves were still rolled up, and there was a smudge of charcoal across one of his cheeks. And he was Scottish, which was quite a surprise.

His expression went from embarrassed to angry. “Excuse me, it most certainly does.”

“Well…wait, I don’t know your name. I’m Jemma Simmons.”

“Leopold Fitz, but everyone calls me Fitz.” He crossed his arms. Fitz, she liked the sound, and it suited him. “Where are you from?” he asked.

“Sheffield.”

“Glasgow. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, please tell me how this does not look like you?”

“This woman, whoever she is, is stunning. Beautiful. I’m just…me.”

Fitz didn’t look like he knew what to say, as his face seesawed between being thunderous and awed. “Sorry, you’re wrong,” he finally said. “This is you. This is how I see you.” He turned an alarming shade of red and busied himself with packing up his sketch pad and other supplies.

“Oh.” Her voice was raspy. “Thank you.”

He nodded and gathered up his things, disappearing out the door of the studio.

Jemma stood still for long moments, trying to sort out the mess of feelings in her chest, before giving up and heading back to her flat.

Fitz was very confusing.


	2. Illumination

The light was just right as Fitz wrestled a canvas into place on his home easel. He’d rented the place because it had the solarium for him to use as a studio, and he tended the plants there with care. They made excellent subjects or backdrops for paintings.

It was Wednesday afternoon, not yet twenty-four hours since he learned that Jemma existed, and he was trying to focus on anything that wasn’t her. His classes that morning, on the business side of an artistic career, had bored him, and he’d spent most of the time make sketches of her face and hands in the margins of his notes.

She was fascinating. Her honeyed eyes would be mesmerizing to paint. Or her lips. He could do an entire series based on only her mouth.

Fitz sighed. He wasn’t going to do that. Jemma was not going to be his final project for advanced figure drawing. He’d already grimly decided that. He opened his sketchbook to the ones he’d done of Ward. Maybe he could add in a vase or something, make it look very classical.

Shite, he wanted to paint the lout as much as he wanted a hole in his head.

Fingers trembling, he flipped over to his drawing of Jemma.

She stared back at him, as exquisite as he remembered. A few scenes his subconscious had tossed at him in his dreams last night came back to him, and he dragged a hand down his face.

Jemma pulling him to her, kissing him, dropping to her knees and…

Fitz groaned. None of that. He was an artist. He could be professional about this. He stared at the sketch and sighed. This was the painting he was meant to create. Everyone looking at it would know he was a randy bastard, but his muse was gnawing at him. He’d been born to paint Jemma, to show the world how endlessly fascinating she was.

His gaze traced over the lines of her breasts, trying to decide if he’d done them justice. His cock twitched. Oh, hell no, painting her was going to be difficult enough without him popping a stiffy over the memory of her lush tits.

Or the way the light had caressed the curve of her hip.

Fuck.

Good thing he hadn’t mixed any paint yet as there was no way he was going to even get pencil lines on the canvas before he had a wank. He palmed his hard prick through his trousers and gave his sketch a lingering look before heading towards his bedroom.

It was for his art. That was all. He wanted to share how desirous she was, which meant he needed to desire her.

Fitz really, really, desired her.

****

For most of Thursday, Fitz was barely able to contain his excitement at seeing Jemma again. Even if their time together would be him staring and attempting to sketch her arse. Maybe she’d be turned slightly and he could include some side-boob.

His line work for the painting was coming along splendidly, after the interruption of needing to tug on himself, and Fitz was absolutely certain his painting of Jemma would be amazing. He’d lightly penciled in roses beside her, because she was an English rose, and it seemed fitting.

There was the problem of adding color. Fitz was going to try to determine what palette he would need for her skin and hair tonight, but the artificial lights of the campus studio and the natural light of his solarium were two very different things. Would her nipples look as pink in that light? Maybe he could ask her to come sit with him for an hour on the weekend so he could get the varieties of browns in her hair right.

Though asking someone he didn’t know to pose nude in his flat would make him sound excessively creepy. Maybe he should ask Mack to vouch for him, the guy was a metal sculptor, and understood Fitz’s artistic need to know the proper hue and shade of thing.

Fitz wrinkled his nose and headed for the on-campus coffee shop. The Espresso Pump was always packed, both because of its location and because the drinks were good.

He was going to get chai and sit and think about every life decision he’d made that resulted in him being a pervert who lusted over a live model.

He had a jacket and knit hat on, the early spring air still holding a chill. The Espresso Pump was busy, and he collapsed into a tiny booth at the coffee shop after getting his order. The smell was spicy and inviting, and he breathed it in, letting the warmth seep into his fingers as he cradled his mug.

“So, Jemma,” said a voice from a table a few feet behind him. He hunched over, but couldn’t resist darting a glance over at the people sitting there. Sure enough, one of them was his muse. She was sitting with Elena and a girl he didn’t recognize. It was the unknown who was speaking. “How’s being a live model treating you?”

Jemma shrugged, and Fitz stared into the depths of his chai. “It’s alright,” she said. “Chilly, though that’s not a bad thing.”

“I’d hate everyone staring at me.”

“Daisy, you’d love it, don’t lie.” Jemma laughed. “And I think I might be an exhibitionist or something, because it the end I didn’t mind so much.”

“You liked being ogled?” Elena asked.

“Well, for the most part, I didn’t think much about it,” Jemma said. “But there was one person I didn’t mind looking at me, and if my nipples hadn’t already been little diamond points from the cold, he would have known.”

Daisy laughed. “Jemma!”

Fitz thought he might be sick. She’d been turned on by someone in class?

“Who is this person?” Elena asked.

“He was so…I don’t know…dreamy?”

Daisy snorted. “Dreamy? Jemma, I have never heard you sound like that. You’re the least romantic person ever.”

“I can be romantic!”

“We need more to go on,” Elena chimed in. “And Dais is right. You’re usually not interested in mushy stuff.”

Fitz now only didn’t want his chai, he never wanted to eat again. He’d been fantasizing about her while she’d been drooling over some guy. Fitz ran through all the students in the class. It was probably Trip. Everyone liked Trip.

“I suppose I’ve never felt like this before.” Jemma sounded almost shy. “I didn’t even know his name, but before I could stop it, my mind had gone straight past snogging him right to settling down and spending my entire life with him. We could live in a cottage. With an art studio.”

Fitz stood. He couldn’t listen to this. He probably wouldn’t even be able to look at her in class later.

Jemma sighed. “It wasn’t until after the class ended that I discovered he was Scottish. How amazing is that? We could have a place in the Lake District, or Perthshire.”

Fitz sat back down, his mind and his legs refusing to work.

Elena gasped. “Oh my god, you’re in love with Fitz.”

“That’s him,” Jemma said. “Fitz. And love is maybe a strong word right now. Mostly I’m in lust, with a side of can we spend ages and ages talking?”

Fitz thought he might lose his lunch again as his head spun. The most perfect goddess in the universe had not just used his name and lust in close proximity, had she?

“I can’t believe,” Elena started, then paused. “Wait, yes, I can believe it. You’re both sort of…not like most other people. I don’t know him that well, but Fitz is a gifted artist and terrible at being social, so you might have to ask him out.” Fitz bristled. He wasn’t that bad. Usually. “And I guess he’s kind of cute.”

“Have you seen his eyes?” Jemma said, her voice a little hoarse. His cock twitched. “And his smile? He’s more than cute. I really need to lick him.”

“Jemma!” Daisy squealed.

Fitz chugged his chai, set the mug down, and bolted.

Now he was going to be unable to look at her that afternoon for an entirely different reason.

****

The studio was a freezer again.

Professor Hand bustled into the back and smiled at Jemma. “Sorry about the temperature,” the professor said. “I set a space heater up for you.”

“I’ll be okay. There’s tonight, and then next Monday is for the students to come in if they need to? To do any additional touch-ups?”

Professor Hand nodded. “Usually there’s not that many, and it won’t take long. You should come and see the finished pieces when they’re displayed, you’ll be surprised.”

“I might do that.”

An alarm beeped on the professor’s phone, and she ushered Jemma out towards the dais. It looked the same as before, though this time Jemma’s eyes searched through the room until they landed on Fitz. He looked very put together, with his hair much neater than on Tuesday.

He smiled tentatively at her and her own lips curled up in response, but then she was on the stage and had to take off her robe and be positioned. It was different than last time. She was seated more towards the edge of the stool, one leg extended, and her spine curving to the side while her arms rested on a knee.

She hated that her back was to Fitz and she couldn’t watch him. Instead, her eyes wandered over who she could see, and out of boredom she started imaging them getting hit by buses.

When a break was called, she turned around on the stool and stretched her arms over her head.

Fitz’s eyes were on her, his hand poised over the paper, but it didn’t move as his gaze ran down her front and back up. Spots of colors appeared on his cheeks, and he suddenly seemed very interested in his charcoals.

The space heater had barely been doing its job, but she felt much warmer as her skin flushed. When she noticed him peeking at her around his easel, she looked down at her breasts and circled her shoulders, before briefly palming one and lifting it as if she was trying to position it better.

She snuck a glance at Fitz, who seemed to be breathing faster, then spun away to grab his shapeless cardigan and put in on again, he fussed with the front of it, and Jemma got a very good idea that he wasn’t simply cold.

Professor Hand called an end to the break, and Jemma had to turn back around and get into position.

The class dragged on, and she was down to wondering if Fitz liked beets or kale better by the time it was over. She hopped down and beelined for her clothes, worried Fitz would disappear before she got them on. If she didn’t catch him now and he didn’t come to the Monday session, she might never see him again. Which was an impossibility.

Jemma absolutely knew they’d be brilliant together.

****

Fitz lingered after the end of the class, carefully adding shading to the curve of Jemma’s arse. It’d been easier to work on the drawing than he’d expected, most likely because she hadn’t been facing him.

A lot of the other students were out as fast as possible because Thursday was party night, but he was hoping to talk to Jemma.

The entire class he’d been working himself up to ask her to sit in his studio so he could get the lighting and colors correct. And maybe so that he could ask her out.

He’d been fairly sure of himself until Jemma had turned towards him during the break and stretched. She’d proceeded to touch her own tit, which had resulted in his entire body going on red alert and his cock thinking it was needed.

It’d taken him the rest of the time to calm back down, but now he’d shrugged off the cardigan again while he put the finishing touches on his sketch.

Fitz had started the class with the noble intentions of drawing her as if she was a treasure, so she’d look at it and know how much he valued her. That had not worked out like he’d planned, and his drawing, with its lines he’d almost thrust on the page, mostly said he wanted to bend her over the stool and screw her from behind.

He really wasn’t used to this much sexuality being in his work, but the results were fantastic. The sketch from Tuesday and this one were some of his best work.

Stepping back, Fitz studied the figure he’d drawn.

Jemma’s voice beside him startled him. “Who were you drawing today? Besides not me.”

He resisted the urge to contradict her. It was very obviously her, but she had come to talk to him, and he didn’t want to begin by ticking her off.

“Who do you see?” he asked instead.

Jemma tilted her head. “Whoever she is, she looks…desired.”

“Ah.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth. Jemma looked towards the door, and he forced the words out because if he let her walk away now, he’d regret it forever. “Jemma, I know this is unusual, but I prefer natural light when I work. I’m going to do my final painting of you from the sketch I made last time, only I need to reference…know…what colors…can you come and sit for me at my place on Saturday afternoon?”

There he’d done it. He crossed his arms and waited. If any of the things he’d overheard that morning were true, he might have a shot.

A wide smile spread across her face, making her eyes gleam.

“Fitz, I’d love to.”


	3. Canvas

Jemma stood on the pavement outside of the building Fitz’s flat was in. She was a few minutes early and trying not to ring the buzzer quite yet.

Her hair was up like it had been Tuesday, and she’d worn flats and a simple wrap dress.

She was going to be alone with him. Naked.

Heat flooded her belly just thinking about it. She’d been mostly turned on since Thursday night when she’d gone to ask Fitz out, and he’d surprised her by asking her to come over.

Jemma had realized at some point on Friday she really didn’t know him that well, and had called Elena, who had laughed and laughed and assured Jemma that Fitz was not secretly a serial killer. Jemma had googled him extensively to make sure, and found adorable photos of him in primary school, including one where he had a gap-toothed smile and was proudly holding up a picture of a house he’d drawn. It looked like any other child’s art, with a bright yellow sun in the corner, and no hint of the talent that was waiting to wake up in him.

She’s seen plenty of that talent too, beautifully rendered flowers, animals, and people. The portraits were exceptional. He didn’t paint exactly photo-realistic pictures, but when you looked at his artwork, you felt something. Joy, anguish, love, ennui. She had been captivated.

Even if her little dreams of a cottage with a studio and a pharmacy nearby she could work at didn’t come true, she felt honored that he wanted to paint her, that for at least this moment their lives intersected.

Jemma walked up to the door and pushed the buzzer for his flat, his name in neat writing next to the button. The door unlocked and she entered, taking the tiny lift to the top floor.

The flat door opened before she could even raise a hand to knock on it. Fitz was in jeans and a paint-spotted t-shirt.

“Jemma!” he said, smiling widely.

She grinned in response. “Hey, Fitz.”

“Come in, do you need anything? Water?”

The flat was sparse, with canvases leaning against every wall, except for one occupied by a sagging love seat and a tiny TV perched on a wooden spindle that was on its side. There was a small kitchen, and doors she supposed led to the loo and a bedroom.

The place smelled of paint thinner.

“Through here,” Fitz said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I keep the plants alive as part of my rent payment.”

She gasped as she walked into the sunny room. It was almost like a greenhouse, with large windows that curved overhead. There were all kinds of flowers, as well as several easels set up, including one that contained a canvas that was much larger than she’d been expecting. There was a pale color wash on the background, overlaid with vague lines that were in a shape of a women. Her shape, to be exact, and some work on a rose bush.   A stool had been placed on an area rug, where Jemma guessed she was supposed to sit.

“Do you do this often?”

“Do what often?” He had his hands shoved in the front pocket of his jeans and seemed to be watching her intently.

“Have wo—people sit for you?”

A line formed between his brows. “Never. I haven’t even had anyone over here at all. I promise you I can work as well here as at the school.”

She covered her eyes with a hand for a moment and told herself to relax. “Fitz, I…alright.”

“Oh. Um…sorry. Do you want to get ready?”

She nodded, and he retreated as she kicked her shoes off.

****

In his kitchen, Fitz pulled out his mobile and texted Mack.

**Help.**

**What’s wrong?** Mack replied.

**Jemma’s at my flat, and she asked if I paint other people here and now I’m worried she thinks I’m not capable.**

His phone rang, and Fitz answered.

“Hey, Turbo,” Mack said.

“What do I do?”

“You breathe.” Mack chuckled. “I’m going to spell this out for you. Jemma is not concerned about you slapping paint on a canvas. She’s worried you bring women home to seduce by saying you’re going to paint them.”

“Me?”

“For whatever reason, she thinks you’re hot stuff and probably believes every other woman in the universe thinks that too.”

“They really don’t.”

“Well, don’t tell her that. Now go make eyes at her. She’s already naked, right? There’s one barrier you don’t have to worry about.”

Fitz took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to paint her.”

“Whatever you want to call it.”

Fitz ended the call and dropped his mobile on the counter before marching back out to his studio, only to be stopped in his tracks. Jemma was actually naked and sitting on the stool.

“Is this alright?” she asked as he forced himself to walk closer to her. Crap, he’d left his cardigan in his room.

In the sunlight, Jemma’s skin was rosy under its dusting of freckles. There were copper highlights in her hair, and her nipples were nearly the same color as the roses.

They were lovely, and he’d bet she’d moan if he sucked…

Shite.

He picked up a brush and cracked open his white and red paint, determined to figure out the right mixture, and not think about how any part of her would taste. Or if her pussy was close to the same shade as her nipples.

Her pussy, which was right there, between her thighs. Only a couple feet from him.

Fitz yanked his gaze up to her face. In the sunlight there was gold flecks in her eyes. How had he missed that? He set the palette down and stepped closer.

“Your irises,” he said, trying to explain. She tilted her head up as he walked closer and put a hand out, his fingers brushing over her cheek before he cupped it with his palm. Her skin was as soft as it looked. He tilted her head so the sun hit her eyes just right, sparks exploding in them in a captivating supernova.

Her lips were a perfect shade of pink, lighter than her nipples. Her tongue darted over them, and the wetness made them shimmer.

His eyes flowed down her body. Line, curves, and angles fitting together to make to most exquisite women he’d ever seen. A thatch of dark hair between her thighs caught his eye, first because of its contrast against her milky skin, and then because he figured out he was staring at her pubic hair.

His cock started to rapidly fill.

Crap.

Why had he worn these jeans? Someone had told him his arse looked good in them once, so he’d wanted to wear them for Jemma, but because they were so tight there was no way to hide his erection.

Her gaze skimmed down his front to his crotch.

“Uh—” he said.

She leaned forward.

“I like you,” he blurted.

“Mm, that does seem obvious.”

His cock throbbed. “Jemma—”

Her gaze snapped back to his face. “I’d like to kiss you now.”

Fitz couldn’t get his mouth to form words, so instead, he bent down and kissed Jemma’s lips. Colors exploded in his imagination, a pink blush for her soft mouth, a deep red for how her tongue met his, and brilliant gold for her sweet taste.

She rose up, right into his arms, and it was better than he could have ever imagined.

****

Jemma was kissing Fitz.

It was a surprise. She had thought she might have to convince him and been planning on pulling a Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. If that hadn’t enticed him, she would have been resigned to sitting prettily for a few hours and rethinking her entire life.

Kissing was much better.

He was warm, eager, and full of happy, delighted noises that were turning her on. She explored his mouth, kissing the corners and learning the shape of his lips and the topography of everything else with her tongue.

He tasted a little like tea, as if he was carrying part of home with him, and she sucked at his lower lip to get all the flavor as she yanked his t-shirt out of his jeans. They broke the kiss so he could strip it off and toss it away.

Jemma put her hands on his chest, scratching at the hair there. “I finally get to see you. It’s been a little unfair so far.”

“You’re very pretty,” Fitz said, sounding dead earnest, then winced. “You are, um…” he snapped his fingers.

“More kisses,” she declared, and Fitz looked relieved as he put his arms around her, pulling her against him. His hands slid down her back to knead her arse. She groaned as he messily smashed his mouth to hers and ground his cock into her hip.

She could barely believe this was happening. That her empty bank account had led her to accept a ridiculous job, and her head had been tilted just right that first day to see Fitz, and that now he was making out with her like there was no tomorrow.

With a grunt, she attacked the front of his pants, undoing the button and zip so she could push them and his shorts off his hips. Fitz seemed to be trying to get naked, touch all of her, and somehow have them lie down all at the same time.

They ended up in a heap on the floor with Fitz on top. He wiggled the rest of the way out of his jeans and Jemma immediately wrapped her hand around his cock, delighting in just how hard he was for her. His eyes drifted to half-mast as he thrust against her palm, but as his head bowed forward, he crowed and descended on her breasts, his lips fastening over one nipple as his fingers plucked at the other.

Jemma arched up under him, moaning and pushing her chest towards him. Her fingers sank into his hair to keep him in place.

Fitz switch sides several time, nuzzling, caressing, teasing, sucking on, and squeezing her breast before Jemma directed back up her body. He was grinning widely. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you,” he said, planting little kissed on her face.

“I certainly wanted to do this.” She ran her hands down his back and squeezed his bum.

Fitz’s expression became serious. “Jemma, I didn’t…I really asked you here to sit for the painting. I didn’t intend to…I wasn’t expecting…I thought at the end I’d ask you out, maybe take you to a nice restaurant sometime soon.”

“I’d like that,” she said. “A lot. But I’m really liking this.”

“Me too.” He kissed her softly, then again, deeper as his body settled between her legs and his cock nudged at her opening. “Oh, bloody hell,” he whispered , his head falling to her shoulder.

“Fitz?” she asked.

“I completely didn’t think…I don’t have condoms.”

Jemma smiled, and then rolled them over. They bumped his easel, and something fell, but since Fitz didn’t seem worried about it, she wasn’t either. His eyes were fixed on her tits as she sat upright, straddling him. “Lucky for you, I excel at preparation.” She twisted and reached for her dress where it was neatly folded and laying on the flagstones just past the edge of the area rug. She grabbed it, found the right pocket, and pulled a condom out.

Fitz was staring up adoringly at her. Jemma gave him the packet, and he made quick work of opening it and rolling it on. Jemma eagerly rose, positioned the head of his cock against her, and impaled herself on his shaft.

“Jemma,” Fitz breathed. It sounded like a prayer.

The tips of her fingers dug into his chest as she rode him, his cock pressing far inside her every time she dropped down, and her muscles clenched around him every time she rose as if her body was protesting letting any part of him go.

Fitz’s hand gripped her hip while the other rose to fidget with her nipples, before he groaned loudly and his palm fell to the floor.

He paused and frowned, and she slowed down as Fitz lifted his hand to his face. He smiled lopsidedly and turned his palm towards her. There was a thick smear of white paint.

“I was going to…color of your nipples.” Fitz felt around and came up with a red tube of paint, He smeared the white onto her skin, right over her boobs, and then pulled the cap for the red off as dolloped it onto her tit. His hips still lifted as she moved up and down on his cock, but he was laser-focused on her breast as he mixed the color together.

“There,” he whispered and looked into her face. “I can’t do justice to what nature has given you, but I think I have the shade right now.”

She wove the fingers of one hand with his paint-smeared one, using the others to press her clit. “Thank you,” she said as her thighs quivered. Fitz saw her in a way nobody else did, and it made her feel like royalty. A princess covered in paint.

Fitz grabbed her arse, urging her to move faster, and her orgasm quickly caught up with her. Fireworks went off being her eyelids, the colors mundane compared to the ones Fitz used.

She swayed as her muscles turned to jelly, and Fitz held her to his chest and rolled them over. He kissed her desperately as he braced his knees and pistoned wildly into her.

“Jemma,” he whispered. “Jemma, Jemma, oh god—” His hips snapped forward, and a moan was ripped out of him, deep and rumbling.

She stroked the rigid muscles of his back, until he collapsed on to her, his face against her throat. Jemma started to move, and his arms banded around her. “Don’t go. Whatever I did wrong, I promise I’ll do it better next time.”

Jemma kissed his forehead and ruffled her hand through his curls. They were already unruly from her fingers. She had a lot to learn about her new boyfriend, and some damage to undo. “I’m not going anywhere. That was spectacular, Fitz. I just wanted to take care of the condom.”

He took a shuddering breath. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I rather fancy you, you know, was hoping you’d want me around for a long time.” She wondered if forever would work for him.

Fitz used his hand to anchor the condom, pulling out and sitting up on his knees to take it off. His eyes never left her face. “A long time,” he agreed with a decisive nod. Standing, he disappeared for a few seconds, coming back with a wet flannel that she used to wash herself between her legs. When she folded it over to a clean side and went to wipe her breast, Fitz, who only had his jeans on, darted in and grabbed her wrist. “Hang on.”

He maneuvered her to where the sun was hitting her breast and he bent down, studying the streaks of paint and her nipple. Finally satisfied, he parked her on the stool, came back with a different rag that smelled of something she didn’t recognize, diligently cleaned the paint from her skin—there was a lot more on her bum than she’d realized—and helped her rearrange her hair.

She recreated her pose from art class, and Fitz’s gaze as he studied her, moving to different angles occasionally squatting down, was much different than it had been in class. This was the artist at work. The randy bits must be temporarily satisfied, allowing him to focus on other aspects of her.

Fitz painted for the better part of two hours, remaining intense the entire time as he mixed colors and applied them to his canvas.

Jemma had never felt more beautiful in her life.


	4. Showing

The weather on Monday was grey and damp, and Fitz shuffled into the extra live model session with a cup of tea in hand.

Actually, two cups of tea. He dumped his art supplies on the floor, ignored the eight other students setting up, and headed for the back of the studio. Jemma was in her robe already, chatting with Professor Hand.

The professor looked up and frowned. “Something wrong, Fitz?”

“Not at all.” He handed Jemma her tea with a smile at her grateful look.

“Thank you. I’m freezing.” Jemma took a long sip of the warm liquid, doctored with exactly one sugar and a smidge of honey. Just the way she liked it. She’d shown him on Sunday morning when they’d finally managed to get out of bed. They’d lazed about that morning, made love, and eventually she’d resumed sitting for him so he could work on his project. As they’d talked, he’d learned that Jemma’s lease was month to month, and she’d taken the live model job to make her rent for the next month.

Fitz hadn’t even had to think before asking her to move in with him, and Jemma hadn’t hesitated before agreeing. It just made sense, really, to pool their resources until graduation.

Professor Hand was frowning at him. “I thought I approved your sketches. You don’t need the extra session.”

He looked at Jemma, then back at the professor. “Uh…I’m just going to make…”

“My boyfriend would feel weird if he wasn’t here, so despite the fact he can sketch me whenever at our flat, he’s going to do so here.”

Professor Hand’s brows went sky high. “I see. Well, carry on.”

Fitz kissed Jemma’s cheek and went to set up, stopping by the space heater to crank it up. Since it wasn’t a regular class, he moved his easel, as he wanted to do a study at a different angle. He ended up next to Trip, who nodded at him. Fitz nodded back and reminded himself that Jemma was simply doing a job and it was him she’d be going home with. Getting jealous since this was how Fitz had met her was not going to be productive.

 As the majority of the students were working on her second pose, that’s how Professor Hand arranged Jemma on the stool. He studied her, trying to decide where to start and what to focus the sketch on. It was different, now that he knew how she felt and tasted.

Cocking his head, Fitz squinted. There was an extra shadow on her breast…no, it was a hickey. His brows drew together. When had he…oh, right, he remembered. There’d been an enthusiastic shag that morning, and Fitz had clamped onto the sweet skin of her tit and sucked and nipped as she’d undulated beneath him.

That’d been fun.

For thirty minutes, Fitz sketched out his girlfriend. The drawing that was forming under his hands wasn’t the unbridled lust of the first two. This was something warmer and more intimate.

He knew he was drawing his feelings as he fell in love with her.

“Hey,” Trip said. His easel was a couple of feet from Fitz’s, and Fitz glanced at Trip as he spoke. “This girl is a hottie.”

Fitz broke the charcoal in his hand in half. “So?” he asked.

“A hottie with a love bite on her boob. I’m thinking of asking her out. Hopefully, she’s just into having a good time, and the guy who left that mark won’t mind.”

“The guy would mind very much.” Fitz reminded himself that stabbing other humans with art supplies was not acceptable behavior.

Trip snorted. “How would you know?”

“Who do you think put it there?” Fitz got a satisfying moment of seeing Trip’s stunned expression before turning back to his sketch.

“Damn, dude, good on you, and, uh, sorry.” Trip sounded contrite, so Fitz bobbed his head in acknowledgment.

The rest of the time went quickly, and Fitz was relieved when everyone put away their gear and left. Jemma’s stint as a live model was officially over.

She returned from the back wearing her clothes and came to stand in front of his drawing again.

“Recognize her yet?” Fitz asked.

Jemma nodded and took his hand. “That’s me. The me you see. I’m not sure I’m that amazing.”

She tilted her face towards him, and Fitz kissed her softly. “You are.”

****

There were too many blasted people in the gallery. Jemma, newly graduated from the pharmacy program with top honors, was wearing a little black dress and trying to find her boyfriend in the sea of people.

It was final showing for the senior art students, a chance for them to make a splash, and Fitz was somewhere in the crush. He had an entire section of wall devoted to his work, with the central piece of art being the painting based on the first sketch he’d made of her.

It was a colossal hit, which didn’t surprise her in the least. The painting radiated sexual want. She’d even convinced Fitz to call it Desire when he’d tried to come up with a complicated title involving roses.

Luckily, for her, no one had recognized her so far. Probably since her clothes were on. Daisy knew, along with Elena and Mack, who were here somewhere, but hadn’t done more than tease her about it a little.

Jemma located Fitz. He was bending over and taping something under his painting. She walked up beside him and read the note. ‘Not For Sale’.

“Why not?” she asked. “I’m certain someone would pay handsomely for it.”

Fitz slipped an arm around her waist. “I don’t want it going with anyone else. It’s…look, I know I have it bloody hanging here, but it feels private.”

Jemma smiled. The painting was magnificent, every detail lovingly done, from the swell of her breast to the tips of her toes. The shadows were somehow warm and inviting, beckoning the viewer in to explore. Especially the ones between her legs. She really had no idea how Fitz had even managed to finish the piece. He’d have her sit, and he’d work for a bit, then end up with his tongue on her pussy or his cock on her tits, and somehow all that lust had ended up in the painting.

She’d seen the other works done based on her sittings, and while some of them had captured her likeness very well, none carried the same depth of meaning as Fitz’s.

“It does feel private, doesn’t it?” she said.

“I was offered 35 grand for it.”

Her mouth fell open, and she turned and punched his shoulder. “Fitz! Why the hell didn’t you sell it?”

“Private…and I got a better offer.”

“You did?”

“Fellow named Coulson.”

Jemma leaned against her boyfriend, feeling faint. “The Philip Coulson who runs The Bus Gallery in New York?”

“That one. Desire becomes part of their permanent collection, though I still own it, and I get a showing at the beginning of December.” Fitz was grinning ear to ear. “Fancy being in New York for a bit?”

She wrapped him in a hug. “I can’t believe…wait, yes I can. You’re a genius with your work.”

Fitz pressed his forehead to hers. “I have something to show you.” He took her hand and led her through the crowd to a door into the back of the gallery space. It was dusty and full of odds and ends, but he continued moving past that to a room that looked half finished.

Letting go of her, he pulled out a wrapped canvas around eighteen inches high. “This is for you, Jemma.” He gazed down at the covered surface. She waited, not sure what was bothering him. “You didn’t say you’d come.” His voice was small.

“What?”

“To New York.”

“Oh, for…of course I will. It’s the best part of my degree; I can work anywhere. Yes, Fitz, we’re going to New York.”

Tension left his body, and he grinned at the covered painting. “Thank goodness. I don’t think I could do it without you.” He hesitated a moment more, then handed her the painting.

“Which one is this?” she asked.

“The one where you’re in the yellow dress.”

“I thought that must not have turned out, I kept laughing, and you kept coming over to put me back in position, even though it wasn’t my fault because you were always talking about the most inane things.”

“It turned out. Take a look.” He laced his fingers together and bit his lip.

Jemma pulled off the cover. It was her, the yellow sundress looking cheerful, but that wasn’t the emotion of the painting, not by a long shot, even though she did look happy.

Every single brushstroke and color spoke of love. The painting glowed with it.

They hadn’t said as much yet to each other, but she wasn’t surprised her boyfriend would choose this way to show her how much he cared for her.

Carefully, Jemma set the painting down and walked over to stand in front of Fitz. She took a deep breath. “I love you too.”

Fitz grinned ear to her and swooped in to kiss her, his arms going around her and his palm flattening on her back, pulling her against him. “I’m so glad you couldn’t pay your rent,” he said.

She laughed and kissed him. “I’m so glad for a world that has you in it.”

Fitz cupped her cheek. “Do you think anyone would miss us if I push you up against the wall, hike up that skirt, and eat you out right here?”

Jemma belly pooled with heat. “Probably not.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I want to paint your pussy.” His hands slid down to grab her arse. “All those pinks and reds.”

“That one better not end up hanging in a gallery,” she said as he kissed down her neck.

Fitz paused. “Alright, but only because I love you.”

“I love you too.”

****

Their new flat in Soho was tiny but had great light.

Fitz twirled the brush in his hand. Jemma was laying on her back, her legs spread as he considered the exact shade of her rose pink her clit was.

Though he’d swear it was darker than a minute ago.

His cock pulsed with interest and he sighed. This was the third bloody time he’d tried to do a work based on her pussy.

Jemma giggled as he dropped his palette and brush and climbed on top of her.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” he said.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Artiste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my little bit of crazy!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos and comments greatly appreciated (and keep me writing). Here or on tumblr. [ @sunalsolove ](https://sunalsolove.tumblr.com)
> 
> This fic is complete and should post over the course of this week!


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